Double Take: A Raw Romance

by Penny Henry

  "Don't get your knickers in a twist," protested John. "I took them straight to the hotel from the airport. They're probably sleeping like babies.”

  "Are you mad, John? Don't you ever learn?" Her voice rose in intensity as she glared he anger to his apparent indifference. "Karl and the band would have been on the telephone the minute they walked into their rooms. God knows what they have been up to all night. Why on earth did you— Oh, let me guess? You picked up a star-struck bimbo of your own and spent the night in your hotel. Am I right?" Lomax's guilty features told Imogen she had hit the nail on the head. "I suggest that you get your ass in gear and pray that Karl and the boys aren't sleeping it off in the hotel foyer. And I mean right now!"

  "Okay, Okay, I'm going." He lifted to his feet. "You worry too much," he grumbled. "You’re no fun anymore. You're not the girl I used to know."

  "I never was," retorted Imogen. "Get out of here, John. Running to Rose won't save you if you screw this one up."

  Lomax threw one last spiteful look at Imogen and marched out of her office. She watched through the glass partition as he stormed through the outer office. She leaned back in her chair and breathed deeply, idly wondering when Karl would choose to make his appearance. She toyed with the hope that Karl would have found a naïve groupie to amuse himself with while he was in town. Sadly, one woman had never been enough for Karl. She didn't hold out much hope.

  The door to Imogen's office was still rebounding from Lomax's exit when Connie entered bearing coffee. She waved her free hand to clear a path through the fog of Lomax's smoky body odor. "Ugh, it stinks in here." She placed the mug in front of her wound-up boss. "What got into John?"

  "Thanks, Connie, I need this." She lifted the mug of coffee and repositioned it onto a Sblig Records’ coaster. "Don't worry about John. He only left Karl Wainscott and his band alone all night in a West End hotel, that’s all."

  Connie understood the ramifications of Lomax's careless act in a second. "Oh no, he didn’t, did he? He should know better than that. He knows exactly what Karl is like."

  "He got side-tracked." She said with just the right emphasize on the word to cause Connie to raise her eyes to the ceiling.

  "Men!" Connie shook her head. "Don't they ever grow up?" Her long blonde hair fanned her cherubic face as she demonstrated her lack of understanding with a toss of her head.

  Imogen laughed. "You're a fine one to talk." She looked at her innocent-looking colleague. "One flutter of your eyelashes and they open their hearts to you. You take advantage of the poor defenseless creatures."

  "Aah, but that's part of my job, isn't it? And that’s as far as it goes." Connie put on her cutest look. "That way I get to hear all the gossip before it hits the music press. Last night I was in the Met Bar - but I’m sure you wouldn't be interested in knowing.”

  Imogen knew better. She had lost count of the times Connie's little snippets had put them one jump ahead of the competition. Men couldn't help themselves when Connie batted her baby blues in their direction. "Do tell." Imogen was all ears. "Purely professional interest, you understand."

  "Of course it is. Now where do I begin?" She grabbed the armchair vacated by John Lomax and heaved it nearer to Imogen's desk. The two young women leant across the top as Connie began to repeat the tittle-tattle about the latest love interests of the current crop of girl groups and boy bands on the circuit. She loved her private chats with Imogen more than anything else in the world.

  Twenty minutes later Imogen was left by a breathless Connie to make her calls to the usual showbiz editors. A word in the ear of the right person was worth a fortune in publicity to Sblig Records. The truth wasn't necessarily the purest virtue of the showbiz pages, but the co-operative editors were Imogen's greatest asset in maintaining a high profile for the artists in their stable. All it ever cost the Company was the tax-deductible price of entertaining the showbiz hacks at the host of functions and award ceremonies that cluttered the year. It was a two-way street and Imogen always tried to be available for a comment on the latest escapades of their recording artists. But before Imogen began her round of showbiz calls she lifted the handset and formed the words in her head that would ruin the day of Don Thornton, the lax service manager of her apartment block.

  When Imogen had completed her lengthy list of calls she looked up to meet the smile of Sblig’s managing director as Rose sauntered into her office. The news was good. John Lomax had safely navigated Karl Wainscott and his band to a lively and successful interview. Rose couldn't imagine why John had bothered to telephone but she got the feeling that he had wanted Imogen to hear of it. The smile didn't fade from Rose's face until Imogen explained that it had been more by luck than judgment that Lomax had got the band to the interview at all.

  "The ungrateful little bastard!” Rose exploded as Imogen's explanation registered. "If he’s is up to his old tricks again, he's out on his ear. That man has had more chances than the National Lottery. Let me know the next time John shows his face, honey."

  "It will be my pleasure. Though, all's well that ends well."

  Rose lifted her eyebrows. "Pardon me? You're not normally so generous where John is concerned. What's got into you, honey?" Her green eyes narrowed. "Or should I say who?"

  "Don't be so crude, Rose." Imogen blushed to her roots. "You certainly have a unique way of expressing yourself."

  Rose plumped her curvy body in the armchair, crossed her legs and folded her arms in a passable impression of an immovable object. "You might as well get on with it because I'm not leaving until you tell me."

  Imogen knew it was useless to deny Rose's weighing up of the situation. Those sharp emerald eyes never missed a trick.

  The eye-catching redhead sitting in the opposite chair stuck out her chin. "Give," she ordered.

  "Okay, Rose, you win. There’s not a lot to tell. I had a coffee with the guy upstairs. That's all I have to say on the subject."

  "The geek!" exclaimed Rose. She was fully conversant with Imogen's ordered life. “The one you’ve told us about? You're not that hard up, are you, honey?”

  "No, not the geek - his name is Roger by the way. It was with his twin brother, Gable. And believe me they are as different as chalk from cheese. He's staying with Roger for a short time and we met by chance in the elevator."

  "Gable?" Rose queried. "Are you sure?"

  "Mmm," murmured Imogen. "He’s tall, dark and handsome. And he's a male model."

  "A male model?" Rose was unable to contain her surprise. "I am talking to Imogen Mercouri, am I not?" What on earth would you have in common with an air-head that lives on his looks?"

  "Gable is not an air-head," said Imogen defensively. "He’s a really sweet guy and a perfect gentleman. And he's nothing like his brother."

  Rose had heard enough. She stood up and frowned at Imogen. "You're old enough to know what you’re doing, honey. Just promise me you won’t let yourself get hurt."

  Imogen looked abashed. "It was only a cup of coffee, Rose."

  "That's how it starts," said Rose as she turned away shaking her head.

  Imogen smiled at Rose's concern and knew that the red-head's first stop would be Connie's desk. The two best friends she had in the world would discuss this unexpected development in Imogen’s love life. She was kind of thankful she hadn’t mentioned the disappointing end to the evening. Rose regarded Imogen as the daughter she had never had. She was protective of her charge and determined to match Imogen to a suitable suitor. Her heart was in the right place.

  Imogen put her head down and busied herself at her desk. There was no time to think about Gable or any other subject other than work until her lunch baguette arrived - and Connie decided to join her for a lunchtime chat. They talked aimlessly as they ate until Connie could respectably turn the conversation to Imogen's love life.

  "It's exactly as I told Rose," said Imogen as she confirmed Connie's thinly-veiled probing. "I went for a coffee last night with the geek's— I mean, Roger's brother. His name is Gab
le and he works as a male model. He's tall, dark and handsome, and acted the perfect gentleman. We had a nice evening and parted as friends. Nothing happened. I really don't know what the fuss is about."

  "You mean he didn't try anything?" Connie asked with more than a hint of disbelief in her voice. She was deeply suspicious of any man that was immune to Imogen's charms.

  "It wasn't like that, Connie. It was just a neighborly coffee."

  "He's gay," said Connie flatly.

  "He is not gay. He's a gentleman and―”

  "Yes? Don't stop now."

  "And I think he's been hurt in a previous relationship. I imagine he’s wary of getting involved again. I was just being a friend."

  "Ha!" scoffed Connie. "You haven't looked at a man in years and now you've befriended a man you think is nursing a broken heart? Walk away, Imogen. Trust me, or you'll be the one that winds up with a broken heart. Once he gets back with his ex you'll be out in the cold."

  "Don't be so cynical. Gable is a very sensitive and caring man. He's just not the type to go round hurting people."

  "Says who? You said yourself you barely know him. If he really is a model and he's taking time out, then it won't be long before he's off on a glamorous job halfway round the world surrounded by beautiful, available women. Then where will you be?"

  "You don't know him. Gable is a lovely man. We're just getting to know each other, nothing heavy. And he is a model, he told me so."

  "Oh, that's all right then. We always believe everything a man tells us, don't we?" Connie felt the first twinges of jealousy in her heart and was trying oh so hard not to show it.

  "You are so mean, Connie," said Imogen with a feigned hurt look. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm a big girl now."

  "That’s my point!" said Connie triumphantly. "Because you think you know what you’re doing you’re gonna let your guard down. You don’t know the guy from Adam." She sighed in exasperation. "I don't understand you, Imogen. You have half of the most desirable stars in the world drooling over you and you won't give them the time of day! You are absolutely beautiful. You could have just about anyone you wanted." The word ‘anyone’ had been said deliberately. Connie was never going to exclude herself.

  Imogen flushed. She was totally aware of the interest she created every time she walked into a room. Much of her time was spent in fending of men that hadn't got the message. The music industry was a merry-go-round of impetuous flings and clandestine affairs. She had learnt her lesson the hard way.

  "You know I'm not interested in anyone in the business, Connie. I've taken all the bumps and bruises I need from egotistical pop stars. I'm just looking for a bit of fun, would you deny me that?"

  Connie looked abashed and pretended to understand Imogen's reasoning. "Okay, I give in. If you think the guy is genuine then go for it! But don't say you haven't been warned."

  "Thank you." Imogen smiled sweetly. "Now that I have your permission, all I need is for Gable to make a move."

  "I told you," said Connie in a superior tone. “He's gay." She jumped up from the comfortable chair and flounced from Imogen's office. "Why should I care?" she grumbled, half to herself but chiefly for Imogen’s benefit. She paused outside Imogen’s closed door and breathed deeply. The trouble was that she did care.

  Imogen chuckled to herself at Connie's antics. She knew that Connie and Rose had her best interests at heart. They had witnessed the heartbreak she had been through. And they had cried at the soul-destroying humiliation of her early years in their mad, mad world of over inflated egos. They knew in themselves that she had never fully recovered from her treatment at the hands of Karl Wainscott. Imogen pondered on the lack of romance in her life. It had been strictly her decision. She didn't even know why she was bothering to defend Gable. He had been very obvious in his cool attitude towards her by the time that he had shown her the door. Perhaps he just liked the sound of his own voice. He had become bored with her company and lost interest after her crude advances. She hadn’t got what she’d wanted and that had irked her. The one thing she did know right now was that she was in urgent need of a man - with only one thing on her mind.

  Her afternoon was spent in long telephone calls and departmental meetings. And there was the never-ending flow of young bands that needed her attention. It was true that with enough exposure any half-decent band could make it in the tweenie market. It was the stars of tomorrow that were hard to find - the bands that weren't thrown out with yesterday's newspaper. Her job was to strike the balance between product and presentation - and preserve the bottom line in the process. The Artist & Repertoire department’s job was to discover the talent. They were young guys paid to find the up-and-coming bands. They weren’t especially concerned with profitability. At the moment the music scene was a menagerie of manufactured bands that were achieving phenomenal success. Every manager that walked into her office was convinced that he had the next big thing under his wing. There were difficult decisions to be made and certain managers were famous for building false hope in their young performers. It was ever more galling to see the same ones return time and again with a fresh sacrifice to the cruel reaper of the music industry. The pattern never changed.

  The only surprise of the afternoon was that Imogen still found time between hardheaded business decisions to think about Gable. The lean, dark figure of Roger's brother had haunted her dreams and was unsettling her mind. It was something she’d thought she’d built immunity against. Imogen Mercouri, the destroyer of young dreams, had herself retained the capacity to dream. It was reassuring to know that dreams were not so easily destroyed. It was reality that was the bitch.

  The office had emptied. She could see through the glass that there was only the cleaner doing her rounds and she had nearly finished her work. It looked like Imogen would be locking up. Imogen’s hand slipped down to hitch up the front of her skirt. She had been feeling frisky all day. She parted her legs and rubbed herself over her panties before pulling them to one side. She was leaning back with one finger sliding between her slippery lips when she heard the fuss in reception. She reluctantly lifted from her seat, smoothed her skirt and poked her head round the door.

  “What’s the problem, Emma?”

  “There’s a courier, Miss Mercouri. He says he has something to deliver. I told him to go away but he wants me to sign for it now.”

  Imogen heaved a sigh. It was a common trick to courier in a demo to try and grab someone’s attention. “I’ll sign for it, Emma. Let him come in. You can leave the locking up to me if you’re done.”

  “Thank you, Miss Mercouri. Goodnight,”

  “Goodnight, Emma.”

  Imogen watched Emma point the way to the courier before switching off the main office lights and pushing through the door. He was wearing leathers and a helmet. She supposed he was only doing his job. She wandered back to her desk to wait for him. He was at her door as she sat down. He seemed hesitant to come in.

  “Come inside.” She reached out for the slim package that he pushed at her. He hadn’t said a word. “What have you got for me?” The mumble he gave her was indistinct. He held out a pad for her to sign. He looked nervous. Imogen sat back. “Take off your helmet. I like to see who I’m dealing with.” He didn’t move. Imogen repeated it. “Take off your helmet.”

  He looked reluctant. Then he seemed to relent and eased off his helmet before tousling his fair hair. “Hello,” he said simply. “Remember me?”

  Imogen caught her breath. It was the guy from the Tube train. “I... I didn’t ever expect to see you again.” She was feeling hot and embarrassed. “So, you’re a courier. What are the chances?”

  “I’d guess about eight million to one.”

  Imogen smiled. “You didn’t look overjoyed to see me. How much more do you have to do tonight?”

  He started to relax. “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise. This is my last job.”

  Imogen’s breathing lifted. She was remembering his jerking member caught between her butto
cks. It had been very long and very stiff. The office was closed. She could feel her cheeks becoming flushed. The burning sensation wasn’t confined to her face. “How many wanks have you had over me?” He pulled a smile that reached to his eyes. They were nice eyes. Hazel, she thought. They went with his untidy blond hair.

  “Not many. About two...” Imogen’s brow creased. “...every hour. And I ruined a good pair of trousers on the Tube.”

  She laughed at that. “Take off your leathers.” It was his turn for his brow to furrow. “You do want to fuck me, don’t you?” He nodded vigorously. “Do you have protection?” He nodded again. “Then - take - off - your - leathers.” It took him about thirty seconds. “Now take off the rest.” Another thirty seconds passed. He was already erect and as long and thick as she remembered. He had somehow salvaged his small foil packet in the process. “Now look at me.” She unhurriedly undressed, taking time to occasionally moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and flash him a sultry look. He was panting at the erotic spectacle that he was having trouble believing. Imogen pushed him backwards into the armchair. He was young and would quickly recover. She grabbed a handful of tissues and dropped to her knees, leaning forward to trap his pulsing rod between her breasts. She squeezed the soft flesh together before rubbing them up and down his length. Then she dropped her head to take the large crown into her mouth. He threw back his head as Imogen dipped her mouth in short sucking pulls before replacing her lips with the tissues. She held the tissue over the spurting head until he finished and waited until he had recovered his breath before standing up and reaching out a hand to tug him to his feet. “That was one for you. Now, let’s see what you can do for me.”

  Chapter Six

  Imogen was smiling as she cupped the cheeky courier’s face and kissed him once on the lips. She twirled away to position herself in the armchair and open her legs. The fair-haired courier fell obediently to his knees. She parted her legs wider and dropped a hand to slide one finger between her glistening lips. Then she crooked the shiny finger to permit him to bring his mouth to her aching groin. He was young but his touch was experienced. He stroked her first before easing her swollen lips apart and teasing her with his flickering tongue. Imogen shut her eyes. He was doing magical things with her clitoris. Trapping the engorged nub with his top lip folded over his teeth and flicking the tip of his tongue against it. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...” He had found a spot halfway between her pulsing clit and her sopping tunnel. Then he moved his tongue up and down the shiny trail before fastening his mouth on her puffy lips and sucking like a vampire on a virgin’s neck. She jerked against his mouth before pushing him away. He climbed from his knees and Imogen grinned. He was erect and ready. She reached to grip the sides of the chair and raised her ankles to his shoulders. He held her calves and skillfully guided the crimson tip to her dripping tunnel, dropping one hand to help the bulbous head enter her parting lips. He carefully eased his thickness inside her before rocking backwards and forwards with short strokes that grew deeper with every plunge of his manhood. Imogen wasn’t thinking of anything. She was immersed in the joy of the rippling sensations that were heightened with every thrust. Then she was filled with his length and rising against him as the madness came and they were joined in an unstoppable race to a shattering climax. He heaved against her as she lay back satisfied, emptying himself before slowly withdrawing. Imogen drew a huge sigh and struggled to her feet. She wasn’t looking for a tender, sleepy embrace. It was sex - pure and simple. They stood naked and drained and looking at each other.